


Not all flirts wear skirts

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-26
Updated: 2007-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flirty!Patrick and first kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not all flirts wear skirts

"Hi," the kid says to Pete as soon as he opens the door, dressed like Pete's grandfather _before_ he got fashionable. "Hey, it's Pete Wentz at my door."

"Hey," Pete says, wondering just what Joe got him into. He had told himself six months ago that he would never listen to Joe, ever again, especially after that incident involving his mother's car and two goats; but Joe had been so adamant, that Pete had given in just to get him off his fucking case. So, here he was at this lovely house in a nice neighbourhood just twenty minutes from his own, looking at this kid whose hair couldn't decide if it was red or fair or brown, in the most awful socks Pete had ever seen on a body.

"Wow. You're shorter than I thought," the kid says with a big cute grin and Pete scoffs, because _he's_ so much taller. "On stage you look larger than life."

"I get that a lot," Pete replies ruefully. The kid's grin gets super-wide.

"Do you? I bet you get a lot of other things too."

Pete wonders if people with cherubic faces are allowed to leer.

*

The kid's name is Patrick and within the first seven seconds of hearing him sing, Pete knows that he will be the biggest dumbass this side of the equator if he doesn't snatch him up and put him in this new band. Not drums. He's cool on drums but the singing is where he must go, even if Pete has to wrestle him into submission; when Pete says this to him in so many words, Patrick looks deviously thoughtful.

"You'll wrestle me? Hold me down?"

"How old are you again?" Pete says warily, perching on the small basement sofa and trying to hold on to the vestiges of his morals because he has them, no matter what Andy told Chris. Patrick gives him a wide stare that Pete doesn't buy for one moment.

"What's the age of consent?" he asks innocently and Pete thinks _please God, no. I won't give my mother any more grey hairs, don't let this kid make me get into his pants...not that he'll be forcing me, or anything..._

"I'm not too sure," Pete hedges as firmly as he can. The innocent look is so very appealing, though; what with the big eyes and the pouty lip. Patrick laughs.

"Yeah, so, here's the thing. Whatever the age of consent is, _that's_ how old I am."

Pete figures he might as well stop praying and just give in.

*

"So nervous," Patrick whispers to him as they wait backstage for the other act to clear out. There is no sign of the sly teenager Pete has become used to over the past few months. Instead, Patrick's hairline is damp and he looks terrified; Pete can hardly reconcile this Patrick with the one who wanted snuggle up to him on the couch last night. He remembers Patrick's comforting warmth and slings his arm around his shoulders. They're in a cool alcove but the back of Patrick's neck is sweaty against the inside of Pete's elbow.

"Hey, no, wait," Pete says, tightening his grip a little so that Patrick is pulled even closer to him. "It's gonna be okay."

"We'll suck," Patrick says dully and Pete can't help to nuzzle the side of his cheek, right where Patrick claims he's growing sideburns. Patrick makes a little content noise and turns his face just a bit. "We'll suck so bad," he murmurs, but his voice sounds light, as if he's not really paying attention to what he's saying.

"No way, dude," Pete whispers, rubbing the point of his nose against Patrick's cheekbone, feeling Patrick's thigh warm against his, enjoying the way Patrick's face is turning towards his like a sunflower to the sun. "Yeah, we'll suck but you'll sound fine."

"Nuh-uh," Patrick breathes, such a childish thing to say and Pete is in the middle of pulling his head back, because, _god_ , morals, _morals_. But Patrick's mouth is already a soft question against his, lips parting against his own in such a painfully slow manner that Pete feels the world simply cease to exist around them. Entire solar systems grind to a halt as Patrick's tongue slips inside his mouth and his hand rises to cup the back of Pete's head, fingers tightening against the spiky black hair. Pete figures he should feel upset that Patrick is undoing hours of straightening work but truthfully? He's not that concerned, not with Patrick turning even more and pressing fully into him, moaning _a cappella_ as Pete leans back into the wall and angles his head, biting a little at Patrick's mouth. He smiles at Patrick's groan.

Pete pulls away at the sound of Joe's searching tones, undoing Patrick's hands fisted in his shirt.

"Wait, wait," Patrick says, his face flushed. "Hey, I'm still nervous. You have to do more. Help me out here, dude."

"Later," Pete hisses, not unkindly and hides his grin at Patrick's needy whine as he takes the kid by the upper arm and drags him in the direction of the stage.


End file.
